


Righteous Fury

by agoodtuckering



Series: The Thick of It Stories [12]
Category: The Thick of It (TV)
Genre: Angst, Cheating, Confessions, Divorce, F/M, First Kiss, First Time, Heartache, Infidelity, NICOLA IS SO FEISTY, Season/Series 04
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-16 01:55:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29445912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agoodtuckering/pseuds/agoodtuckering
Summary: Nicola needs to say a few things after Malcolm has chucked her as Leader of Opposition. She shows up at his townhouse that very same evening to do just that. As ever, a shouting match ensues.
Relationships: Nicola Murray/Malcolm Tucker
Series: The Thick of It Stories [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1046006
Comments: 4
Kudos: 16





	Righteous Fury

**Author's Note:**

> New stories coming in my Carving A New Life series, so that's something you all can look forward to. A lot of people have begged me on twitter to keep it going. I needed the recharge of muse before doing so.

It was over. He’d done it. Nicola was finally gone as Leader. Their dear, departed, asthmatic, practically fucking coma-induced Leader. He was home now and it was rather late at night. The day had been altogether awful but at least it was over now. The lump of guilt in his throat was threatening to fucking choke him to death but he wouldn’t let it. Not now, and not ever. He owed no loyalty to Nicola Fucking Murray.

All of a sudden there came a ring at his front door bell. He’d been rummaging through the refrigerator for something to eat before falling into his bed face first. 

“Half past fuckin’ eleven,” he grumbled to himself, loosening his tie as he wandered back in the direction of the door. He’d been so fucking busy all day long, and he’d only just gotten home. Fuck this. And fuck whoever was at his door. 

When he opened the door, however, he was greeted by _her._

“Get tae fuck,” he said aloud, shocked and bewildered and terrified all at once. True terror and shock were there, plain as day, and written across his features. Surely she wasn’t _that_ stupid and she could see it. 

“I’ve been thinking,” she steamrolled ahead, stepping up towards him at the front door. “I’m almost ashamed that it took me nearly the entire day to come to this conclusion,” she continued. 

Without warning, she slapped him across the face. It was quick, hard, and the sound fucking echoed around his townhouse foyer and living room. Thank the fucking gods above that his door was blocked from view by a hedge, in case any hacks were camped outside. He seriously doubted it, though. And they, of course, would have already seen her fucking approaching, cameras and Red Bull at the ready to spend the entire night.

She had a sting in her cold hands, from the bitey air and the fact that she’d probably stopped the cabby driver a while back and walked the rest of the way here. It was chilly and breezy out. In the middle of the fucking night, no less. Did she want to be raped, mugged, and murdered? Fuck if he cared, though. 

His hand immediately rose to his face, altogether shocked that she would even _lay a finger_ on him. Did she _not_ expect him to strangle her with her own intestines when she was finished? 

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ, Nic’la,” he admonished. Quite loudly, too.

“Like I was saying,” she told him, “I came to a conclusion. You did what you did to me, in front of fuckin’ _everyone,_ because it was personal. Because of _us._ Because of some twisted, warped way that your mind works, because you thought it would… I don't fucking know… completely cut off our connection. A connection you never fucking wanted in the first place. You wanted to end our relationship, our friendship in the worst way possible. You wanted to murder it with a sledgehammer. The Spin Doctor at his finest and coldest. You didn’t have to do all of that. There were much gentler ways. Instead, you went for the fucking kill. You went for the throat, you dribbling prick. You and I were close, Malcolm. We’ve worked side by side for years now. You worked _for_ me, with me. Beside me. All of it.” 

Again, her hand rose and slapped him hard, on the other cheek. 

He only gasped this time. No yelling, no insults to be hurled her way. No mockery and no comment in response, either, thank fuck. He deserved it, and he certainly deserved whatever she was about to say to him. They both knew it. 

“It scared you,” she pushed on. “It terrified you that you cared for me. I could see it in your eyes. Every single fucking day you got softer around me, loath as you are to admit such a thing. Like a fucking pebble on a beach. Well, if I just wore you down so much, softening you up, why did you stick around? Need I remind you that _you_ brought me on as Leader of Opposition? I didn’t want this position. I didn’t want any of this. You did this. You made me. I could be living my life in fuckin’ Connecticut by now, working for a _good_ university. I could be divorced by now. I could be happy. And you know what, you absolute cock-womble, so could _you.”_

He stood there, his eyebrows having risen high in surprise. His cheeks were red where she’d slapped him as well. His face _stung._

Without warning, she shoved him hard. He stumbled backwards and landed on his arse in the foyer. She closed the front door behind herself and made her position known, staring him down now. She wasn’t about to leave. Not until she said what she had to, anyway.

“Do you know how long I _waited_ for you to do something about this?” she asked. 

He was just sitting there on his arse now, looking for all the world like he was completely at a loss. He couldn’t even speak. He felt like a wee lad again, when his parents used to fight.

Finally, summoning some strength, he asked, “Do something about what, Nic’la?” 

Her eyes were cold as she replied, _“Us,_ you moron. This thing between us. Do you know how close we came? I don’t even care anymore. I don’t care that I’m _married._ Look what you’ve made of me, you Scottish arsehole. I told James tonight, as he ridiculed me and berated me, that we’re over. I’m filing for a divorce. It’s finally happening. It gave me the final push.”

Finally, he moved to stand up. She pretended not to notice the way he winced. 

“Excuse me?” he asked, a bit winded now. 

She looked at him for a moment, long and hard, without remorse, and stepped closer to him. “I’m tired, Malcolm. I’ve been bitter and angry all day. I can honestly say that I fucking hate you. You did everything the way you did it because you wanted to completely and utterly betray me. Well, guess what? It worked. It truly fucking worked. I’ll get over it, and it won’t take long, but let me tell you something…” 

This conversation was _not_ something he wanted taking place here, in his home, on a Wednesday night. He already felt as if an alien was about to emerge from his stomach and cover his fucking face to asphyxiate him to finish off the job. He was just a fucking host for this party. That was all that he’d become. 

She stepped closer, face softening even the _tiniest bit_ now. It felt like progress. If only because he knew she wouldn’t slap or shove him again. He didn’t care about the rest. Or maybe he did. Or maybe it just didn’t fucking matter anymore. 

“You wanted me to go,” she elaborated, more eloquent than in all of the time she was fucking in government. “So, I’m gone. But you also wanted to prove a point. That you don’t fucking care about me, and you never have. And I’ll tell you what, you failed at that. The overkill today said it all. You don’t need to say a single word about it. And don’t deny it now.” 

He felt like shrinking back into himself. He wished he could fucking toss her out of his house right the fuck now. She was looking at him as if she’d won, and _oh,_ he loathed that look on her. He hated it so much. 

“Because if I’m miserable,” she added, “now you are, too. We _both_ lost something.”

Finally, his vocal chords seemed to reattach themselves. They had felt severed earlier. He could barely argue with her. _Time to spin himself out of this,_ he thought. 

“Are ye out of yer fuckin’ wee mad mind, darlin’? I know ye never were very bright, but _c’mon._ Yer fuckin’ wrong, Nic’la,” he began. “I dinnae fuckin’ give a toss about ye. I dinnae. I never have. And if I did, ye would’ve had full permission to send me off to some fuckin’ clinic. To section me. To give me a lobotomy or something. Because that’s just no true. Okay? Get it through the bird’s nest that is yer brain that I genuinely dinnae care about ye.” 

He was tired. His accent was thicker, his eyes were darker, and his hands were practically shaking with exhaustion. But he was _still_ filled with rage. She could see it. It was written all across his face. And fuck but she didn’t care. 

“I hate you,” she exclaimed, reaching out to grab his tie. She wanted to make a statement. Well, she certainly was about to. 

Their lips crashed together hard enough to knock their teeth and then she was at him. He barely had a moment to understand this turn of events before attempting to draw back. She tugged him back with his tie, her opposite hand falling between them to brush the front of his trousers. 

“Nic’la!” he all but yelped in surprise. 

She knew the moment she’d won him over. Because, fuck, if they were never going to do anything about this electricity between them, and he’d done his best to make her hate him, she was certainy going to have this. Even if it was only for tonight. 

“Fuck, Nic’la, what are ye doing?” he asked again, although less forcefully this time. A moan tumbled from his lips a moment or so later. 

She drew back, shucking out of her mid-thigh-length trench coat and tossing it aside on his sofa. “I hate you,” she told him. “I really fucking hate you.”

She offered no further explanation before their lips met again. But this time, it was a mutual thing. His hand rose to her face, teeth capturing her lower lip before letting it snap back into place, and her hands were all over his chest. She snuck her fingers under his suit jacket, brushing the expensive cotton of his top and the silk tie he wore. 

“God, I fucking hate you,” she said against his throat. She could feel the chuckle that vibrated in his throat, down to his very chest. She doth protest too much, perhaps.

“Ye keep saying that, darlin’,” he mumbled, “but yer hands are all over my vest and my cock. Fuck. What are we doing?”

His hand pressed her up against the wall, knee slipping between her thighs for a bit of friction. If this was _really_ about to happen, and it appeared so, then he didn’t want her in his bedroom. It was too personal, too close to the _real_ him. He didn’t ask for this. She did. It didn’t mean that he didn’t want it just as much, but she had initiated this. He never would have. 

He was shrugging out of his jacket, working his tie open, as she replied. 

“I don’t know, Malcolm. But in the meantime, I think we’re about to fuck. Or maybe I’m reading your signals wrong. God but you’re hard right now.” 

How had she never been this close to him before. His eyes were _so_ blue. So gray, too, with little specks of green in them. Even in the dim light, she could see them so clearly. 

God but if he thought she would sweet-talk him, he was wrong. _Good._ He didn’t want any fucking pillow-talk right now. They were about to make a gigantic mistake, anyway. At least things were on the way out with her husband. She and James were getting a divorce, she’d said. 

One less thing to feel guilty about. 

He ground his hips into hers, letting her feel what she was capable of doing to him. 

She was busy shedding her own clothes. They didn’t make it that far, though. By the time his wrinkled shirt was unbuttoned and his trousers were opened, he was tugging her tights and knickers down. It wasn’t a moment later that he was slipping inside of her. It was hot and dirty, with her back to the wall and her thighs wrapped around him. Adrenaline kept him moving, otherwise he might have tumbled over from sheer exhaustion.

He knew she was on birth control. They had been _that close._ She’d mentioned it once when he’d made a particularly nasty joke about not having any more Murrays running around this godforsaken, fucked up the arse planet.

There was a moment, just a moment, that they appeared shocked and held one another’s gazes as he’d pushed into her in one smooth motion. They were appalled at how perfectly they fit together, how fucking _good_ this felt, to be inside of her. How fucking perfect it all seemed. 

Her nails ran across his back and the moment passed. He was immediately beginning to roll his hips with hers. Her brow furrowed in concentration, all of her focused on all of him, but he did his best to take no pleasure in being her sole focal point of the moment. This would be over soon enough, surely. 

“Fuck, Malcolm,” she moaned. “Why didn’t we do this years ago?” 

He couldn’t look at her. He just couldn’t. He knew why. Self-loathing and all that fucking shit. 

They were so perfectly in sync. Every time he thrust up into her, he brushed _that spot_ and it practically had her calling out in pleasure. Fuck but he should have known she was a screamer. He really should have known that. 

Her hands were all over him, brushing beneath his shirt and grasping his shoulders. Her legs — _fucking nicely toned legs, too_ — tightened around his hips. He was groaning loudly along with her before long. He was lost in the pleasure. Maybe she was right. Perhaps they should have done this years ago and everything would have been that much more enjoyable. It felt like a full frontal lobotomy every day, just walking into Opposition’s Headquarters. 

He was a mess. If she had expected him to be all fire, rage, and domination, she had been sorely mistaken. Any other night, maybe, but not tonight. He was too exhausted. It was a mutual thing, them meeting one another’s thrusts and their hands all over one another. It was _sexy._ And god, when was the last time she’d felt this sexy, or this _wanted?_

He wasn’t shy about what he wanted, about how much he adored her body, or about giving her exactly what she craved. His hand slid down between their bodies, somehow managing to stroke her as he moved. He was so, so close. 

When they came flying apart at the seams, it was _together._ She was practically screaming his name and he was all but howling her own. The whole fucking neighborhood probably knew what he was up to tonight. At midnight, too, of all times. 

They stayed there together for a long while, until his legs threatened to give out on him. She was surprised at his tenderness, as he helped her down. His hand was gentle as he held her hip, making sure she had her footing before daring to release her. 

She wandered away, slowly redressing and plopping down on the cream-colored sofa. 

He took a moment, a hand resting against the wall as he caught his breath. He took the time to tuck himself away, doing up his trousers again, along with his belt, before turning to look at her. She’d expected shouting, lots and lots of angry, rage-fueled yelling, but it never came. He didn’t bother buttoning his vest as he came over to have a seat beside her. 

She was the first one to speak, unable to handle the silence. 

“That’s it, then,” she said. “I’m also a cheating wife now, on top of everything. Even if we _are_ getting a divorce.” 

His hands were rubbing vigorously at his face and he chanced a glance in her direction. “Dinnae start with that, please,” he pleaded. “Just dinnae. Dinnae do it. We knew what we were fuckin’ doing, and we did it anyway.” 

She was looking at him. Full on, imploring, and seeing _all of him._ It made him feel naked again.

“What?” he asked. “What do ye want tae hear me say? That I’ve wanted tae do that with ye for years? … Because, well, I have. Fuckin’ happy now?”

Her hand smoothed over his thigh and found one of his, squeezing his fingers. “We’re no good for each other this way,” she told him gently. “In government. In a work environment. But don’t tell me you’ve never thought about _more_ with me? More than just shagging my brains out against your office wall, or on my desk.” 

He made a face but he didn’t pull away. “So what if I have? Doesnae really matter anymore, does it? This little mentally-deranged episode of ours was a one-off, darlin’.”

She swallowed, her mind obviously off to the races now. “Was it, though?” 

And it happened just like that. _As easily as could be._

They had buggered everything earlier. Him, especially. But he found, over the years to come, that beginnings happened as easily, as effortlessly, and as swiftly as endings did, too. They could be something more, something _better,_ and they were. 

_Happily ever after and all that fucking rot._


End file.
